


Fragments

by anthemXIX



Series: A Wolf & Its Boy [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Action, Angst, Blood and Injury, Daruk's Protection (Legend of Zelda), Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mipha's Grace (Legend of Zelda), Revali's Gale (Legend of Zelda), Suicidal Thoughts, Urbosa’s Fury (Legend of Zelda), Wolf Link (Legend of Zelda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthemXIX/pseuds/anthemXIX
Summary: Each time the voices disappeared, Link felt emptier and lonelier than ever before. He ached with a desperate hope that they would soon return.Yet in his world of ruins, he knew that nothing lasts forever.// Link traverses Hyrule preparing to face Calamity Ganon. His only companions are his wolf and, on occasion, the voices of his long-dead and scarce-remembered friends.
Relationships: BotW Link & Wolf Link, Daruk & Link (Legend of Zelda), Link & Mipha (Legend of Zelda), Link & Revali (Legend of Zelda), Link & Urbosa (Legend of Zelda)
Series: A Wolf & Its Boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020630
Comments: 19
Kudos: 99





	Fragments

**I: Daruk’s Protection // Oseira Plains, Faron Grasslands**

The red-maned lynel tossed its head back and unleashed a strangled, furious roar as the air around it swirled, energy building. Link jumped away long before the burst of frenzied fire and watched the lynel’s front legs buckle. After a long battle, it was drained and feeble, and that had been its last-ditch attempt to neutralize him.

Link vaulted with a strange grace onto the beast’s back. Its eyes, once filled with an animalistic wrath, had adopted a resigned but resolute glaze. It was the look of a defeated soldier who was prepared to die with dignity at the enemy’s hand. It was shockingly human, and Link couldn’t bear to consider it as he plunged his sword between the lynel’s shoulder blades once, twice.

Just as he delivered the third and killing blow, Link heard a frantic, drawn-out howl.

He leapt off the collapsing corpse, panting, sword held at the ready as he scanned the field of brittle, yellow grass and baobab trees. He blanched when he saw his wolf deftly threading between the legs of a second lynel, snapping at its ankles.

Link tore the bow from the fallen lynel’s back and rushed forward, side muscles cramping with overexertion. Three arrows planted themselves within the red-maned monster’s neck, but the lynel didn’t react. Instead, it maneuvered away from the snarling wolf’s jaws and galloped off, only to pivot, draw its massive club-like crusher, and charge.

Link shot a torrent of arrows, all of them hitting their target, but still the beast didn’t flinch as it threw back the club and swung. The wolf evaded—but without pause, the lynel swung the crusher back in the opposite direction, and the impossibly heavy weapon crashed into the canine’s side. With a startled yelp, the wolf was knocked to the ground, bouncing helplessly like a skipped stone.

The lynel followed, brandishing the club two-handed and high over its head just as Link skidded in front of the wolf. The crusher fell like an executioner’s axe and collided with Link’s shield with such immense force that cracks spiderwebbed over the metal surface, Link’s arms crumpled into his chest with bone-twinging tremors, and the hero was thrown back into his prostrate companion.

The wolf yipped as Link landed on its injured ribs, but the boy didn’t glance back as he scrambled to his feet, arms trembling, breaths shaky and shallow.

The lynel had retreated again to rebuild its momentum, steadying its crusher at its side. Link had no time to dodge as it turned and stampeded. He dug his feet into the parched soil, raising his splintering shield as a pleading voice—warbled and distant, as if underwater—echoed through his head.

_Hold on, little buddy. I’ll be ready soon._

This time, the impact shattered his shield. Flung backwards, Link tripped over the prone wolf and slammed to the ground, avoiding the crusher’s backswing by coincidence. Wheezing, Link hoisted himself up and bolted to the right, drawing the Lynel Bow once more to nail his enemy’s haunches. He had to lure this monster away from the wolf, who lay still aside from the labored rise and fall of its chest.

The lynel slung its club over its back and inhaled sharply. Despite the protests of his overworked lungs and spasming sides and burning leg muscles, Link sprinted harder. Solid heat pushed at Link’s back and further dampened his tunic with sweat; fortunately, he outran the actual flames spat by the lynel in three successive spurts.

When the heat dissipated, he shot three arrows directly into the lynel’s face. It reeled back and swatted at the protruding shafts for only a moment—but it was long enough for Link to unsheathe his sword and wallop the beast with a spin attack.

Teeth bared, the lynel began to reach for a weapon as Link threw his damaged sword javelin-style. It sank into the lynel’s neck and fractured; the hilt clattered uselessly in the dust. Link fumbled for a replacement sword and shield as the growling lynel called on its weighty spear.

Link knew what was coming. He ran. The lynel catapulted itself straight up—attaining an impressive height with remarkable speed, injuries considered—and slammed down with equal velocity. Its harshly-angled spear missed the hero but smashed into the dirt with such ferocity that the earth jiggled and jolted with shockwaves. Link staggered, slipping despite the dryness of the grass.

 _I’m almost back to full strength,_ the voice telepathed. It was louder now. Clearer. Closer. _Another minute, little guy._

The lynel charged, and an exhausted Link evaded the spear but was rammed by the beast’s broad shoulder. He was knocked to his back again, head whiplashing against the ground, and what little breath he had evaporated. His chest seized as he gasped, rolled onto his side, and dragged himself to his hands and knees. All his limbs quivered now, and salty sweat dribbled into his eyes, and Link questioned if his waning strength and agility were sufficient to dodge the beast that had trotted away and now rushed towards him once again.

The wolf howled.

Filled with warring horror and relief, Link watched his wounded companion launch itself up and lock its jaws around the lynel’s bulky throat.

Yowling, the faltering lynel scrabbled to grab its attacker. Even as claws dug in to fur and flesh, the tenacious wolf clung fast. Dark blood welled under the wolf’s mouth, streaked across its muzzle, oozed down the monster’s neck.

Link reacted more slowly than he should have, but nonetheless, he managed to hit the lynel with a spin attack to the legs. It crashed to its knees. Panting, Link clambered onto its back and shakily jammed his sword between its shoulders once, twice, thrice.

But the lynel wasn’t defeated, only enraged. It pried the wolf off, chunks of bloody meat and hair still clutched in its teeth, and threw the wolf aside before violently bucking. Link tumbled feet-over-head to the ground and, with an awful _crack_ , absorbed the brunt of the impact with his neck. Colorful fireworks claimed his vision temporarily; the world tilted and shifted as he struggled to right himself.

By the time he noticed the magic churning around the lynel, it was too late.

The force of the fiery explosion propelled him backwards; the blaze singed his hair and face and hands; the sick odor of burning flesh overtook him. He heard the wolf cry out—and with a jarring flood of déjà vu, saw the lynel towering over it, crusher raised above its head.

With a fervent shout, Link lunged forward, shield out, just as a powerful declaration boomed through his head: _Daruk’s Protection is now ready to roll!_

When the crusher bashed into the shield, the spectral green form of a Goron erupted from the point of impact, enmeshing Link and the wolf in a shimmering, translucent dome. The lynel skidded backwards, hooves raking up dust and dirt, mouth twisting into a bewildered but bitter snarl. It lifted the crusher and tried again, only to engender the same results: a luminescent orange forcefield repelled it, and a ghostly Goron with a triumphantly mischievous grin flickered and faded.

Thunderous laughter rang through Link’s head. _What a fool! Finish him off, little guy!_

As the baffled lynel slid back again, an invigorated Link thrust his sword deep into its chest. The lynel bellowed. Link wrenched his blade free and buried it in the lynel’s throat, stabbing clean through to the other side. Hot blood bubbled onto his hands and frothed around the lynel’s lips. It gurgled hideously, slumping to its knees once again and floundering blindly for the spear on its back.

It was staying down this time. With two hands, Link wrested his sword free with a sickening _shluck_ , flung it back to wind up, and threw all his weight into the next blow. The sword sliced cleanly through the lynel’s damaged neck, and its twitching head toppled to the grass in a splatter of blood. The lifeless body hovered upright a moment longer, as if in shock, before crumpling into a blooming crimson pool.

 _Uh, okay, a little overkill there, buddy,_ Daruk intoned, _but you did it. I knew you would! You’re both safe._

Link turned around, nauseated as he staggered away. The wolf limped at his side, nudging the Hylian’s bloodied hands in a gesture that could have been comforting or grateful or concerned; Link wasn’t sure. He used his stained tunic to wipe the blood from his sword before sheathing it, then dropped to the ground and vainly attempted to scrub his hands clean on the crisp grass.

The wolf whimpered, poking his ear with its nose, its hot breath tickling him. Its muzzle was painted scarlet, and the stained fur down its front hung in wet, matted clumps.

Hands still shaking, Link pulled out the Sheikah Slate and debated a suitably safe, isolated location they could warp to. They needed a place to wash up and recuperate, and the wolf’s ragged breathing and injured ribs required medical attention. Foggy with fatigue, he examined the map and worried over the way the panting wolf leaned into him for support.

Daruk’s resonant voice startled him.

 _I don’t say it enough. I’m proud of you, Link._ _We all are, even the birdbrain._

Link thought he heard an indignant scoff in the recesses of his mind, but Daruk ignored it.

_You’re an incredible fighter, you’re crazy courageous…and you’re a good kid. A real good kid._

Link recollected the first lynel’s cognizant eyes and dignified acceptance of death. He thought of the second’s decapitated head lying mere feet behind him. A good kid? He doubted it. 

Still, he yearned for Daruk to continue speaking. Coherent communication with the other Champions was a rare event. Even if they were no longer trapped, even if they had all given a piece of themselves to Link, they remained rooted to their Divine Beasts. Rooted to their past and future fates.

Besides, spirits, especially fragmented ones, had limitations—different than those of the living, certainly, but limitations nonetheless. Projecting their voices into Link’s thoughts or allowing Link to summon their Gifts took energy, and a lot of it, which is why the Champions only spoke to him in the moments where they were already channeling their powers for him to use.

 _You have such a bright future,_ Daruk continued. _When this is all over, when Hyrule is reclaimed, you’re going to have an amazing life. I hope you find every joy you want out there. You deserve the world, little buddy._

Link felt the phantom weight of huge hand on his back. It was not the affectionate slap he sort of remembered from a century ago; it was a tender touch. He couldn’t stop the instinct to look over his shoulder, though of course there was no one there.

_I can’t wait for you to have that future. I just wish I could be there to see you enjoying it._

Any warmth Daruk’s words brought him dispersed, replaced by something cold and unpleasant that settled into the bottom of his gut, like a sinking stone in Lake Hylia.

The passageways carved into his mind by Daruk’s voice were swallowed up by white static that soon dispelled. He supposed that was the end of Daruk’s message.

Although Link couldn’t remember living any other way, hearing other people’s voices in his head felt unnatural. Unsettling, even. Yet contradictorily, it felt consoling, too, like the voices filled the mental vacuum that once held his former, forgotten life. Like his true identity was on the brink of recollection. Like he didn’t have to navigate this unforgiving journey by himself.

That’s why, in its own way, the _lack_ of other people’s voices felt unnatural, too, and why when the voices disappeared, he felt lonelier and emptier than ever before. Why he was left with an ache and a desperate hope that they would return soon, even if only to say a few words.

Next to him, the wolf whimpered, eyes bright and curious. It pressed its cheek against Link’s; the hug-like gesture was its preferred expression of affection. Link scratched behind the wolf’s ears, congealed blood on his fingers catching in the brown-grey fur.

Without much more thought, he tapped a glowing blue spot on his Slate, leaving a crimson smudge on the screen. He and the wolf dissolved into a thousand strands of cerulean light and vanished, crumpled grass and carnage the only traces left behind.

 **II: Revali’s Gale // Risoka Snowfield, Gerudo Highlands**

Sporting his new Snowquill armor, Link slogged through shin-deep snow, hands tucked beneath his underarms and fingers wiggling to stave off the irrepressible cold. Subzero temperatures couldn’t harm him, sure, but that didn’t mean he was _warm_. Far from it.

Initially, campfires and the wolf’s body heat offered significant reprieve from the elements, but now nothing could breach the permanent chill that had burrowed into Link’s bones after a weeklong jaunt through the pitiless Gerudo Highlands. (Repeated ambushes by well-concealed ice-breath lizalfos didn’t exactly help the situation.)

Now, Link and the wolf crossed a vast snowy expanse that grew hazy in the near distance thanks to the dark of night and a mild snowstorm. To his left, the silhouette of a skull-shaped monster camp loomed, but he wasn’t concerned. Darkness and snowfall hampered his senses, but they also cloaked him from any monsters on late-night watch.

Besides, he traveled with a reliable friend.

Leading the way, the wolf trotted a few feet ahead, ears and nose constantly twitching at stimuli imperceptible to the Hylian. Although the snow piled up to its elbows, the wolf didn't seem uncomfortable. Nimble and poised, it glided through the snow like a shadow.

Not for the first time, Link sent a prayer of gratitude to the Goddess as he trained his eyes on his companion. Link didn’t know where the wolf had come from, nor how it possessed Hylian-level intelligence and empathy (magic? divine blessing?), but appreciation far outweighed his curiosity. He wasn’t going to question one of the few gifts he’d been granted on this arduous adventure.

The wolf’s support was especially valuable over the last few days as Link’s muscles and joints stiffened more and more from the arctic cold; the constant achy tension left him feeling dull and depleted, problems exacerbated by inadequate sleep.

Frigid winds and snowbanks didn’t allow for easy rest, and the highlands’ terrible cold stung all the worse when Link stopped moving for long periods. Frankly, he was a little afraid to sleep for an entire night, concerned that staying still for so long would allow the cold to worm its way deeper inside him and stop his heart. So instead of full nights of sleep, Link snagged two- or three-hour naps here and there, face buried in the wolf’s fur, semi-sheltered in niches among the cliffs.

The wolf stopped, hackles rising; Link followed suit, pulling out his bow and nocking a fire arrow. Surveying the vicinity, he saw no movement and heard only the wind’s moan and his own quickened breathing.

An ice-breath lizalfos exploded from the snow at the same time that the wolf pounced. Their midair collision sent them tumbling in a heap. The wolf swiftly gained control, pinioned the monster, and crushed its throat.

The second lizalfos leapt towards Link. Even in his exhaustion, he could still shoot his bow with unparalleled speed, and the lizard shrieked as it succumbed to the flames. His coiled muscles twinged, and Link, grimacing, could only watch as the wolf took out the third lizalfos.

He had started to lower his bow when he heard the horn.

Triangulating the sound, Link squinted ahead and noticed the vague outline of another skull camp, surrounded by four makeshift watchtowers. A pack of lizalfos and bokoblins, illuminated by flaming clubs and spears, flooded from the skull’s mouth. Link turned his left to see that the closer camp, once silent and nonthreatening, was also bathed in flames as monsters spewed out.

The wolf bounded forward. Link took aim at the closer camp, efficiently eliminating three ice-breath lizalfos with fire arrows before unsheathing the Royal Broadsword on his back. He dispatched a blue bokoblin and swerved to face a black lizalfos.

Coupled with the snow, his fatigue-addled mind and body impeded his usual speed and accuracy, allowing the lizard to land several strikes with its flaming spear. When he finally deflected a hit with his shield, throwing the lizalfos off-balance, he moved in but was too slow: Another black lizalfos took the opportunity to whip him with its tail, throwing him to the ground.

As Link struggled to stand, an ice chuchu that heretofore lingered on the edge of the fray body-slammed him, encasing him in pale azure ice. His breath hitched and his heart stuttered as, to his disbelief, his already-low temperature plummeted further.

The next moments happened in such quick succession that they melded together. His icy coffin was smashed by a black bokoblin; a lizalfos double-tapped him with its flaming spear; and the chuchu, its magic recuperated, tackled him again. The ice around him had barely solidified when a monster shattered it and he took a (mercifully not flaming) club to his back.

Ailing and dizzy, Link scraped together every last shred of his energy to lurch up and away from the wrath-filled monsters, groping for his glider.

The voice that filtered into his mind was a little fuzzy and a lot snarky. _Escaping finally? About time._

Paraglider in hand, Link crouched—

_On your left!_

—and was struck across the head by the bokoblin’s club. He toppled over, vision blurred and blackening, then tottered up into the semblance of a squat.

_Get ready!_

The ethereal likeness of a Rito materialized and whirled around him, creating an updraft that caught in the cloth of his glider and shot him up into the air, leaving a handful of perplexed monsters to gawk at his unexpected ascent.

At the peak of the wind column, Link hovered and spotted his wolf charging from enemy to enemy. Blood sprayed in its wake as it ruthlessly tore through limbs and throats. The viciousness knotted Link’s stomach a little, but his gut really clenched when he saw the monsters he’d left behind rushing to join the rumpus.

 _Don't just float there! Get out of here!_ Revali shouted, his voice now as close and distinct as Link’s own thoughts.

As the updraft dissipated, Link began to drift downwards. The wolf couldn’t handle two monster camps on its own, especially ones bearing ice magic and blazing weapons. But Link hadn’t been in fighting condition prior to this mess, and with fresh bruises and lacerations, a throbbing headache, and burn holes in his outer layers…

(A dreadful, shameful urge to flee rose inside him. He was tired. So tired. What use would he be in a battle? The wolf was a capable warrior in its own right. Wouldn’t it be okay without him?)

Dreadful. Shameful. Link hated that part of himself. The pathetic part. The part that was a lost and scared seventeen-year-old who wanted to go home. (The part that wasn’t a hero.)

_Damn it, Link! Snap out of it!_

Link plopped into the snow and let several more fire arrows fly at the remaining lizalfos, bokoblins, and chuchus surrounding his friend. Most missed their marks, to his dismay, but they still detracted attention from the wolf. Two bokoblins ran for him, bows raised.

 _All the sacrifices we made for you, and you’re going to die at the hands of some mindless bokos,_ Revali drawled. _Phenomenal. The Hero of Hyrule, ladies and gentlemen!_

A staticky hum resonated in the back of Link’s head. It was another Champion responding to Revali, but Link could neither distinguish the voice nor decipher the words.

But that didn’t matter. Revali’s taunts crashed into him as painfully as that bokoblin’s club, washing out everything else, muffling the angry cries of the incoming monsters, shutting out other thoughts. He stood, shivering from the gnashing cold, bow still poised, no longer able to see his targets.

Reckless. The accusation he’d heard in snatches of memories from half a dozen other voices, some he couldn’t even identify. Reckless. Link was acting reckless, and it was going to get him killed.

After everything his friends had sacrificed...

_This is seriously not the time to space out, dummy!_

Link crouched again and burst into the air with a second updraft. The blue-green Rito soared around him, sneering. In midair, he shot at the bokoblins; his weak arms slowed the arrows, and the bokoblins were able to evade. They discharged ice arrows his way, but they didn’t hit, either, mostly due to the bowmen’s poor aims.

As he started dipping, Link directed himself towards the edge of the plateau. He looked back to see the pig monsters had abandoned their pursuit. Link could see the wolf darting around them, trying to escape the madness.

Link sank closer to the ground and was ready to drop the remaining distance. Far too late, he noticed the bumpy form of yet another snow-draped lizalfos nearby. He rotated to redirect himself, but the creature sprang up and, with uncharacteristic accuracy, sent its spear flying through the cloth of his paraglider. 

As Link fell, he managed to strike the lizalfos with a fire arrow, eradicating it before he plunged into the deep snow. He was pleased at the successful hit—fatigue hadn’t completely derailed his skill—but he scowled at his glider’s gaping tear.

When he saw the wolf hurtling towards him, Link hauled himself up, wobbling from dizziness, and lumbered to the plateau’s edge. He deployed his ripped paraglider, which at least slowed his momentum as he pitched to a lower steppe.

Not long after, the wolf rocketed over the edge of the cliff and, devoid of all previous elegance, somersaulted in the snow, limbs flailing. They both lay there, breathless and blood-spattered. In the absence of the din of combat-hungry monsters, the wind’s soft laments made Link’s ears ring.

Despite the glacial air eroding him, he started to fall asleep; a voice ricocheting in his head jolted him awake.

_Those Snowquill clothes are the best safeguard you could have against the cold, but they don’t protect from stupidity._

Link winced. Revali was always snide and prickly, but now he seethed with righteous, barbed anger.

_You—for whatever Goddess-blessed reason—were chosen to save this kingdom. You have a duty to fulfill. Once it’s done, you can pull any brainless stunts you want, but for now, your sole purpose is to annihilate Calamity Ganon. You can’t do that if you’re dead. You possess more stamina and strength than most, but you aren’t invincible._

Wearily, Link sat up, feeling warmer due to exertion—or was that hypothermia setting in? The Rito paused, perhaps recovering energy before continuing his tirade. Link waited, combing through Revali’s words to make sure he understood.

 _I see the hypocrisy._ Revali spoke more quietly. Not from distance or sapped strength, but because he lowered his voice in a confessional manner. _For me, of all people, to criticize your pushing yourself too hard._

The Revali in his slivers of memory was one-dimensional: snippy, condescending, prideful. All other facets of his personality were lost to Link. Was he a hard worker? Did he push himself too hard? Did he worry about failure? Link couldn’t remember seeing Revali training or battling or even conducting mundane day-to-day activities. Link didn’t really know him.

But as he listened and saw the personality unfolding before him like a blossom, Link wanted to know. Very much so.

_Just…quit being an idiot and take care of yourself._

The voice was gone, then, withdrawn into hibernation until Revali’s Gift was needed again—and that wouldn’t happen for a while, given the state of Link’s paraglider.

Link tried to drudge up more memories of his fallen comrade; nothing came. It wasn’t a surprise. Sleeping for one hundred years had scrambled his brain. And not sleeping for one week had fogged it over even more.

Sweet Goddess, Link was tired. Very, very tired. He struggled to unlatch the Slate from his belt, struggled to focus on the map as the wolf wrapped itself around his shivering frame. He was tired, but he would persevere.

**III: Mipha’s Grace // Ruins at Camphor Pond, East Necluda**

The restless wolf’s agitation mounted through the night. It bristled constantly, eyes darting and ears swiveling in paranoid anticipation. Like its other heightened senses, the wolf’s ability to percept magic was more acute than Link’s, although the Hylian needn’t possess any special faculties to understand that something sinister was brewing.

At dusk, the horizon blushed dusty pink. It would have painted a pretty vista, had Link not known what it foretold. Throughout the evening, the pink darkened and crept across the ether, casting an eerie, red pall on the world.

Nights like this, it was best to lie low. Revived monsters returned from the dead, ready for vengeance, while their still-living counterparts rejuvenated themselves with the ambrosia of dark magic. Awash in a mindless thirst for blood, the monsters were ruthless. Fights weren’t picked in defense of territory but rather for the adrenaline of the kill.

Yes, it was best to lie low…if given the choice. Link had no such option.

Aggressive monsters meant that ordinary travelers were more likely to be attacked, if they dared venture out on such a dangerous night—which wasn’t common, but it wasn’t exactly rare, either. Naïve greenhorns, overconfident thrill-seekers, or even sky-enamored stargazers were wont to wander out and require the intervention of a hero, if one happened to be convenient.

That’s why tonight, and all nights like this, Link patrolled.

He and the wolf passed through the Cliffs of Quince. The monster camp there lay empty, as he’d left it. The day he’d cleared it, the lifeless camp and puddles of cooling blood signaled victory and safety; tonight, they were an omen of tenacious evil. The cavern’s air practically vibrated with pent-up energy as it prepared for unholy regeneration.

It was not lost on Link that the night’s unnatural defiance of death mimicked his own fate. That once, his heart stopped. Consciousness vanished, and its husk fell cold and pale and stiff. That once, one hundred years ago, he died, and someone dabbled with strange power, deity-tier power, to resurrect him.

That the barrier separating him from the monsters was a flimsy one, like the one that separated the Sheikah from the ghastly bane of Hyrule. That the monsters, though unthinking and cruel, were damned to die and return just to die again, over and over, forced unwittingly into a terrible fate, made into abominations by someone more powerful.

That he had been doomed to a similar destiny, molded into an aberration and denied the mercy of oblivion.

No, none of that was lost on him.

\---

Link and the wolf came to a fork. The main path stretched on to Hateno Village, while the smaller trail detoured into a secluded area, flanked by waterways and walled in by cliffs. The wolf went rigid and hyper-alert, focused on the lesser path, and with concentration, Link could hear the muffled ruckus that suggested a skirmish.

Even when so antsy, the wolf waited for Link to start down the path and stuck to his hip as they jogged.

The trail lassoed around a modest grove and nameless set of ruins, and Link knew all too well that there was an unusually high concentration of monsters there. Regrettably, he hadn’t visited the area in the last month, and as they approached, he could see a pair of red moblins bearing down on two back-to-back Hylians amongst crumbled stones.

Link scaled the nearest half-wall, drew his bow, and killed each moblin with a headshot before any monsters even began to detect his presence. As the two startled Hylians gazed up at him with desperate hope, a red bokoblin loped toward them; it, too, succumbed to a headshot. Link leapt off the wall, positioning himself between the travelers and the now-riled remaining monsters.

Scowling, he shooed the travelers off, gesturing up the trail and pushing their shoulders. They hesitated only a moment before wordlessly streaking away. Reckless, Link thought as he turned back to two silver bokoblins. He could hear hideous shrieks from the adjacent woods, where no doubt the wolf was taking out more beasts.

As Link hacked at his enemies with a claymore, he caught the ashy odor of fire; a sour, smoky taste wheedled down his throat. As he felled a silver boko, Link saw bits of Malice floating around them like demented snowflakes, and the moonlight reddened significantly.

It was almost here.

Link grew frazzled as he swung at the second silver boko; it was wounded but still fighting. The scent grew more pungent. The taste became richer. The Malice thickened. The air darkened.

He struck down the pig just as the wolf unleashed an imposing howl, loud and long and deep. Link looked up to the flushed full moon pushing through the clouds, red tentacles spiraling around it as the sky morphed to a matching tint. 

The blood moon had risen.

Clouds of purple smoke, saturated with dark magic, snaked around the monsters’ corpses. The pressure exuded from the magic surrounding him was so immense that Link felt his chest constrict. He choked on his own breath, doubled over, nearly dropping his claymore. The moblins and bokoblins rose to their feet, wickedly grinning.

Each pulsed with more strength than before, especially the once-red moblins that bore fresh blue coats.

The magic dissipated; the pressure vanished so swiftly that Link’s ears popped; the bits of Malice dissolved; the sanguine tinge in the sky cleared, almost restoring the nighttime blacks and blues to their normal shades.

The full moon that hung in the sky lost its frightening tendrils, but still glowed an awful blood red.

Combat resumed. Link scaled the ruins once more to eliminate the blue moblins; they each required two arrows to the head this time, but were taken out fairly easily. Link attempted to similarly assassinate the silver bokos, but they were considerably heartier. Impatient and not wanting to waste arrows, he jumped from the wall and slammed down his claymore on one’s head. It wasn’t a lethal blow, and unfortunately, the second bokoblin interfered with a slash of its sword.

Monsters’ imprecise, erratic movements sometimes bolstered their chances in battle—even weak enemies could dole damage with unpredictable behavior—but they also led to folly. In this instance, the monster’s swing was too wide, so Link had plenty of time to both evade and smash its ribs with the claymore.

The boko yelped as it flew into a stony wall fragment; Link finished it by chucking a moblin’s discarded club at its skull.

The gruesome crack of fractured bones was drowned out by a wailing war cry. Link whipped towards the final foe. Galvanized by dark magic, the bokoblin seemed unaware of its bleeding wounds as it wildly whirled a Serpentine Spear above its head in a sweeping circle. Too close. Link couldn’t dodge it.

Parodying the bout Link had just completed, the spear thwacked into the boy’s side and sent him crashing to the dirt. He rolled onto his back, ready to pop to his feet, and was startled to see the boko towering above him, spear gripped in both hands and held high aloft, the deadly metal tip pointed directly at—

Link screamed as the spear plunged through his abdomen with the vile, wet noise of tearing flesh, ruptured through his back, and pierced the soil, pinning him to the ground.

An infuriated snarl, and the wolf was tackling the perpetrator, tangling with it somewhere out of Link's sight. Link lifted his head a fraction to look at the wooden shaft protruding from his stomach. His beautiful blue tunic was quickly turning red, as the evening sky had; he could feel the wound throbbing with his pulse. He let his head drop with a pained moan.

That was a fatal wound.

The wolf appeared beside him, dark blood dripping from its maw and staining its fur. It must have cleared all the enemies in the woods; Link didn’t hear any sounds indicative of monsters.

Whimpering, the wolf sniffed the spear. Blood’s metallic tang filtered into Link’s throat. His limbs felt heavy, but he managed to raise his trembling hands and grasp low on the shaft. Sucking in a breath, chest rattling with fluid, he concentrated his remaining strength and tugged.

His scream was strangled this time. Lying prone, he couldn’t pull straight up, and the angled spear only widened the gash. Hot blood bubbled from the new opening in time with his heartbeat, saturated his tunic and discolored the skin underneath.

Link hadn’t even dislodged the spear from the dirt. His feeble effort to remove the weapon had only hastened the inevitable.

Link squeezed his eyes shut and let his useless hands plunk to his sides. A cold nose kissed his cheek, followed by puffs of warm breath. The wolf’s whine thrummed too loud in his ear.

Then his friend shuffled away. Link cracked his eyes open. With its head tilted at an awkward angle, the wolf delicately closed its teeth around the spear. The weapon jostled and Link twitched, grunted, stiffened. The wolf tightened its grasp, held steady, then threw itself up, front paws lifting high off the ground. With an appalling slurping sound, the spear was freed; the wolf tossed it aside, blood drizzling in its wake.

Link cried out and clamped his hands over the gushing gap. He could feel blood pooling beneath him, his clothes sticking to him. Throat clogging, Link flipped onto his side; his cheek smeared through still-warm bokoblin blood.

A cool, soothing voice wafted through his head, like cherry blossom petals on a breeze.

_It’s going to be okay, Link. I’m here._

Eyes shut tight, he coughed out a spray of blood, the violent force of it folding his body in on itself. He drooled crimson in a sluggish, sloppy trail down his chin. His wounds cascaded.

He heard the wolf pacing around him, whimpering. Felt it nose his arms and face, his hair and neck and shoulders. Felt it curl against his back to brace him. Link leaned into the solid support.

He was dying. Goddess, he was dying again. He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to bleed out in the dirt, surrounded by monster carcasses and crumbling stone. What if he didn’t wake up? Would his spirit be trapped in the physical plane, as his friends’ spirits were? Would he enter unconscious oblivion?

Would he prefer that to waking?

_You’ll feel better soon. Please stay strong._

The voice’s timbre gently stilled his floundering thoughts in the way a careful hand brushed over the glassy eyes of the dead to close the lids. It placated him with irrefutable finality.

He detached from his body’s wracking anguish. Sailed away until physicality shrunk to a distant speck. He heard the faint whisper of his wheezing breath dwindling and his heart faltering. They slowed. He slowed.

And when all were on the absolute verge of stopping, Link felt a chill. A chill somehow here in this bodiless realm.

The chill consumed him, and—no, there it was. He felt it now. Felt his fingers and toes, arms and legs, chest and pelvis—his whole body. Felt his bent knees, his hands splayed across his stomach, his side against compact dirt, his cheek in something slimy. And the chill, enshrouding him.

Link peeled open his eyes to an overwhelming green light. He had to blink and shift and squint to discern the shape within it: the indistinct form of a Zora.

Mipha.

She was close, so close. He could see the outline of her eyes and lips, the jewels and tiara, the Champion’s sash tied across her small frame. The lines were all in place, but there was no substance between them, only turquoise luminescence.

But she was there, right there, meeting his eyes with a mournful smile. 

Then she was gone.

Link blinked, pupils adjusting to the rapid shift in lighting. The tremendous pain from a minute before had vanished, replaced by a dull and ebbing ache. The skin visible through the blood-rimmed hole in his tunic was marred only by a faint, white scar. All other injuries he’d sustained, even the most minor cuts, were mended. The pleasant tingle of healing magic lingered throughout his body.

He was restored, returned from the absolute precipice of death.

Behind him, the wolf shuffled and lay its head on his arm. Link didn’t move. He waited.

But the space Mipha’s voice had occupied in his head had closed like his wound, a mere vestige left behind. Was there nothing more to say?

Perhaps she hated him. It was justified. She cherished Link as a dear childhood friend and the sole object of her romantic affections, and he remembered none of it. Remembered none of her.

Sure, there were vague snippets in his memory, but there was something foreign about them, like they weren’t really his, like he didn’t _truly_ remember. There were no feelings there. How had he felt about her? Had he returned her affection, or did his heart lie elsewhere?

He wasn’t sure, and that scared him. That hurt him. That hurt _her_ , he was sure.

And Mipha didn’t appear to him now at will. She was trapped, tied to him by her destiny to help defeat Calamity Ganon, only surfacing when Link’s dying body summoned her. Like Link, she was doomed to deathlessness until her duty was fulfilled, stuck in between worlds, her spirit unable to rest—all because of _him_. Because he hadn’t completed his mission the first time around, and he was taking months to prepare for round two.

Yes, if Mipha hated Link, that was justified.

Still, Link trusted her implicitly, more so than the other Champions. He felt comfortable and easy with her presence. The connection they shared now hardly qualified as a relationship, yet Link still liked to see her, liked to hear her. Felt soothed by her. Wished he could speak to her, touch her.

Link longed for her. Was it romantic pining, or a neglected child’s desperation? Was it love of some kind? Did she love him still?

Did anyone?

Something hummed and flickered in his head, a flame sputtering to life. Link’s breath caught.

_I can sense your distress and despair._

Mipha’s voice was already garbled and far-off, but the sound still soothed like salve. He strained to hear it, cling to it.

_I know it’s not enough, but I love you with my whole heart. I know it’s not enough, but…_

Her voice was fading, waning the way his own heartbeat had, nearly inaudible.

_…I am always your friend, Link._

The voice disappeared.

\---

For a long time, Link lay still.

(Not enough. Disembodied voices weren’t enough. Link wanted to see. Touch. Hold. Be held.

That was needy. Greedy, even. That was the non-hero that dwelled in him. Selfish. Scared. Sad. Lonely.)

But in this moment, Link could not rouse any shame. In this moment, he embraced it, that non-heroism. Wallowed in it. Succumbed.

He enveloped Mipha in his heart, sealed her there, as best his faulty memory allowed. Enveloped and secured the rest of the Champions, too. His friends. His precious friends.

Cheek crusted with dried bokoblin’s blood, back against the patient wolf (whose shining, sad eyes studied him, unwittingly), Link lay still. Marked with new scars and encircled by decaying rubble, Link lay still aside from the slight tremor his shoulders adopted. His tears were soundless.

Link lay still, and the florid moon idled, indifferent.

**IV: Urbosa’s Fury // Hyrule Castle Town Ruins, Central Hyrule**

Burning blue, the Master Sword sliced without effort through the guardian’s legs, leaving fizzling sparks and dangling wires in its wake. After enduring a few more calculated slashes, the mechanical behemoth jerked and whirred, its menacing blood-red gleam fading. It heaved a croaking sigh before imploding into screws and springs and smoke.

Link didn’t bother to pick over the parts; he must have demolished twenty guardians in the last two days, so his inventory overflowed with all the gizmos he could ever need to fashion new weapons. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t need more. If fate granted him fortune, then the guardians would be cured of their malice infection soon. Very soon, he thought, glancing to the looming castle.

Unable to deal much damage to the guardians, Link’s wolf had left him to the fight and scouted the surrounding area. Now, the wolf bounded back to his side, pacing and whining with flattened ears. It wasn’t a signal that enemies were nearby (although they were, certainly; Hyrule Field was riddled with guardians). The wolf had been increasingly agitated as they gained ground on the castle.

Link patted his companion’s head, earning several licks to his gloved hand, and nodded towards the ramparts. They edged forward, ever-vigilant, managing to sneak unnoticed past a nearby decayed guardian and slip through a schism in the stony walls.

Throughout his journey, Link had seen plenty of devastation and desolation, but what lay before him now elicited a small gasp. Dead remnants of stilted trees reached from the grassless soil like skeletal hands from graves. Cracked cobblestones formed the memory of streets, burnt wooden beams protruded from the foundations of buildings long destroyed, and Malice was absolutely everywhere. 

It was gathered in mounds, from which ascended hardened spikes strung with pink-black goo; single orange eyes suspended among the mess like a spider in a web. It stretched across the ground in thin vines and thick protuberances. It pooled in divots, puddled in trenches, wedged into gaps. It twisted through the air as ash.

Malice had consumed Castle Town. 

The wolf chuffed, and Link followed its gaze to a guardian stalker skittering through the ruins. Link tightened his grip on the Master Sword as he crept forward, the wolf on his heels. The telltale beeping of a laser sounded. He stopped, blinking down at the red spot on his chest in confusion. The guardian hadn’t noticed him yet. Was there another?

The wolf grasped his hand, teeth pricking him as it pulled. They avoided the direct line of fire, but the aftershock knocked them both off their feet. The laser’s beeping resumed; the sound of a second laser joined it. Link looked up in alarm. Atop the ramparts sat two guardians of a type he had never seen. They seemed fixed in place, their only movement from the whirligigs atop their helmet-like heads.

The wolf barked and Link turned to see the Stalker he’d been after was now hurrying towards him, laser zeroed in on his chest.

Clear and powerful, a voice rang through his head. _Let’s go, kid! I’m ready!_

Link let the Master Sword clatter to the cobblestone so he could grab the wolf and pull it to his chest. He squatted and raised one hand. It flickered and crackled with green-tinged electricity. He snapped.

Dignified and elegant as always, Urbosa’s phantom appeared. With a smirk, she threw open her arms. A massive bolt of lightning surged from the sky, struck the ground, and flared out in all directions, devouring the three guardians. They were paralyzed, their lights and lasers snuffed out as they seized and twitched, joints grinding metallically.

Link was hurtling towards the stalker, Master Sword and Guardian Shield++ in hand, as Urbosa faded. He slashed through its legs and killed it with a spin attack before it could shake off the paralysis. He was darting towards the ramparts as the other two awakened, training their beams on him once more.

The wolf sprinted after him, and they both smacked into the wall before the guardians could fire. Unable to see their prey from their stations, the robots cut off their lasers and continued their watch with increased scrutiny.

Link gestured for the wolf to stay before slinging his tools across his back and swiftly scaling the wall. He swung himself up onto the ramparts as if mounting a horse, instantly drawing the attention of one of the guardians. When he reflected its laser back into its vulnerable eye, it stuttered indignantly and fell lifeless. Link shuffled around the turret and eliminated the second guardian in the same manner before dropping back to the dirt.

Urbosa’s diplomatic tone invaded his thoughts.

_Hey, kid. You’ve done an incredible job so far. I never doubted that you’d make it to this moment, and I have no doubt that soon, you’ll finish this once and for all. Now, I have something important to impart._

Link tensed. Although she was the least verbose, the Gerudo Chief acted as the _de facto_ messenger for the spirits. Her tactful, forthright, level-headed demeanor made her ideal for delivering directives that affected Link’s journey. That she had a communique on the eve of such a fateful day did not surprise him, but Link was seized with distinct foreboding at her tenor. 

_The ability to use our Gifts will remain with you in the coming days, but to prepare for our final battle, we Champions will speak to you no longer. We must concentrate all our power on targeting Ganon._

Link’s chest tightened. He’d known all along they would depart one day. Their souls were tied to here, tied to him, because of their collective destiny to destroy the Calamity. Once that was fulfilled, Link assumed they would disappear and take their Gifts with them to reassemble their fractured spirits and proceed to another plane. But that was later, wasn’t it? Didn’t that come later?

For their voices to retreat now, before facing Ganon... He didn’t expect that. He wasn’t prepared.

Urbosa continued. _So on behalf of all of us—Daruk, Mipha, Revali, and myself—I bid you good luck, and goodbye, Link._

He wasn’t ready.

“W-wait,” he rasped. “Wait!”

Taut vocal cords strained. He stepped forward and reached out as if to grasp someone.

Bittersweet sympathy laced the next, and ultimate, utterance. _You’ll be okay, kid._

“Wait!” Link pleaded. “Don’t go!”

Four incomprehensible voices twined into a chorus. Harmonized. Intensified. Crescendoed. Exploded into white noise, then thinned into a white void. There, but blank. There, then gone.

Link squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, extending all his mental capacity, grappling for purchase.

The Gifts, dimmer now, glimmered inside him still—but that was all he found. Whatever psychic portal connected his mind with the Champions’ had shuttered and evaporated, no traces lingering. His thoughts, and his alone, reverberated. Once more, his mind was wholly his.

Wholly his, yet not whole.

Clutching his head to keep the pieces together, Link stood in silence.

The wolf pressed against his leg in consolation. At least his closest friend remained.

\---

Until evening arrived, the wolf roamed through the debris, stopping periodically to dig out a rusted weapon or archaic treasure chest. Link followed, plucking up spare arrows, sifting through the wreckage.

The twilight sky wasn’t blue or purple, but rather a sickly-looking grey, tinted pink by the omnipresence of Malice in the air. Darkness smothered sunlight. Night devoured day.

Link and the wolf retired to an alcove in the curtain wall. It smelled dank, but the narrow embrasures and entryways provided little view for surveilling guardians. It sufficed as safe overnight shelter.

Link spread out an old blanket and plunked to the ground with a sigh. He removed his Ancient Helm, leaving it within reach along with his weapons and bags. Although he wanted to change into more comfortable clothing, he left the rest of his armor on. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Still restless, the wolf paced, only able to walk a few steps in the small space. Link produced some wrapped parcels: a cut of grilled prime meat for his companion; salted meat and mushroom skewers for himself. The wolf took two large bites, lapped up a little water, but left the rest of its meal on the floor and continued to pace. It didn’t seem hungry; Link had the impression it ate anything at all out of politeness, as silly a thought as that was.

The Hylian didn’t eat much, either, only consuming half of the skewers he had prepared at a cookpot the previous night. Now that he was resting, he could properly feel the jitteriness that roiled his innards. Here he was, on the brink of his destiny. Tomorrow he would infiltrate the castle and initiate a battle that would, should he succeed, end a century-long war with evil. Should he fail… Mipha’s Grace and fairies and potions could not sustain him indefinitely. Should he fail, he would die, and he would not receive more chances.

Either way, it was a final battle.

Despite repeatedly facing death, Link was still afraid of it. Perhaps that was a trait locked into the genes of any mortal creature. Death in combat promised agony, and the afterlife, in spite of his regular communication with the deceased, retained its mystery.

But he embraced these fears and persisted. True terror lie with the thought of failure, of botching his single, undeserved chance at redemption.

No, he couldn’t consider that. He would succeed. He _had_ to succeed. There was no alternative. He couldn’t abandon the world to destruction again.

(Yet the non-hero, entombed in his mind’s darkest crypt, whispered hushed promises of reprieve in oblivion.) 

When Link stowed away the partly-eaten meals, the wolf came to his side, whining. He stroked its fur, looking into the concerned diamond shards of its eyes. As if grooming a pup, the wolf tenderly licked his face and his bangs, leaving them stuck at odd angles. He smiled, and the wolf thumped its tail.

Link pressed his cheek against the wolf’s. It nuzzled him and whimpered softly.

When they settled down for the night, Link clung to his friend, cuddled into its fur. From time to time, the wolf licked his hair and cheeks.

Link scratched behind the wolf’s ears until he fell asleep.

\---

He awoke with his face against the cold stone floor. He blinked to clear his bleary eyes and sat up, uncomprehending as he stared at the space once occupied by the wolf. How had it gotten up without Link noticing? He was a light sleeper; besides, anyone would notice if their pillow and main source of warmth walked away in the middle of the night.  
  
It was puzzling, but the more important matter to solve was where his wolf had gone. Off the cuff, Link couldn't remember the wolf ever disappearing, and he was concerned. It was easy to see his companion wasn't in the cramped cubby, so he grabbed his belongings and ventured out into the ruins.  
  
There were no pawprints outside, and a visual sweep of the immediate area revealed no movement, save the roving guardians. Link returned to the split in the ramparts through which they crossed last evening, peering cautiously out into Hyrule Field. No clues presented themselves.  
  
Something heavy lodged itself inside his gut, but Link shooed it away. He began to creep through the malice and decay, taking care to avoid the sights of the Guardians, and continued his search.  
  
It was midday before Link slumped into the corner of a decimated house and admitted to himself what he had been sure of hours prior. “Gone. It’s gone.”  
  
Link wanted to believe that his partner would reappear once this trial was complete. It always waited for him outside each shrine and Divine Beast, greeting him with a waving plume tail. Surely this was no different. It patiently awaited him somewhere, and they would reunite when all was done.

He wanted to believe that, but he knew, in his world of ruins, nothing lasts forever. He would never see the wolf again.

Link craned around the wooden shambles and spotted two patrolling guardian stalkers in his vicinity. He sprinted towards them, and when they turned, gleaming wrathful red, he lifted a hand and snapped. Lightning crashed down between the robots, stunning them both. Link reared the Master Sword and with near-inhuman speed, hacked off their legs and jammed the blade into their eyes. He turned away from their falling husks to face the front gate of the castle.

This was it. This was the end. He would strike without mercy. Conquer. Slaughter. He was the Chosen Hero of Courage, and he would accomplish his destiny. He would free the Princess and the Kingdom of Hyrule from the ruthless scourge of the Calamity.

And free himself, said that reprehensible secret voice, that beguiling voice.

Either way, it was a final battle. Either way, he’d be free.

Selfish motivation propelled him forward. A mantra beat with his heart: It’s almost over. It’s almost over. It’s almost over.

For that, Link was ready. He strode through the castle gates, alone.


End file.
